


Ask Me A Question

by beckybrit



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-01
Updated: 2012-03-01
Packaged: 2017-11-05 05:19:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beckybrit/pseuds/beckybrit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Auror partners Harry and Draco get stuck in a cellar together, will a game of twenty questions reveal more than they were expecting?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ask Me A Question

Title: Ask Me A Question  
Pairing: Harry/Draco  
Rating: NC-17  
Disclaimer: Everything Harry Potter related belongs to J.K Rowling.  
Warnings: none  
Word Count: 7200  
Summary: When Auror partners Harry and Draco get stuck in a cellar together, will a game of twenty questions reveal more than they were expecting?

 

a/n This is my first attempt at writing a HPDM fic, I love reading about these two and thought I'd give it a go. Thanks to the lovely TwiWeasel for pre-reading and huge thanks to [](http://fr333bird.livejournal.com/profile)[**fr333bird**](http://fr333bird.livejournal.com/) for all her encouragement and awesome beta'ing. I would never have written this o/s it if she hadn't given me a 'gentle' shove.

 

 

 

 

 

“Are you finished, Potter?” Draco asks, standing next to Harry and twirling his wand nonchalantly between long, elegant fingers. “Only I would like to get home _before_ the sun comes up, if it's all the same to you.” Draco examines his fingernails, a practised bored expression on his handsome face.

Harry rolls his eyes, while trying very hard not to stare at those fingers and imagine Draco holding a very different sort of wand. “Almost there,” Harry replies, casting a couple more disillusionment charms to hide all the illegal potion making equipment he and his fellow Aurors uncovered earlier.

Harry, Draco and Ron are the only Aurors left behind after they raided the place a few hours ago. An anonymous tip led them to a concealed cellar beneath a muggle pub. Two wizards were caught in the act and taken in for questioning but the remaining evidence can't be collected until the morning. So, the task of securing the area and hiding everything from any unsuspecting Muggle eyes has been left to Harry, his partner Draco, and his best friend Ron. None of whom are very happy about it.

“There, that's the last of them.” Harry declares, sheathing his wand in his sleeve.

“About bloody time, too,” Draco grumbles and turns to head towards the door. “Where the hell is Weasley?” he asks turning back to Harry. “Shouldn't he be taking care of the door? _Merlin_ ,” he huffs, pulling his wand out and pointing it at the door. “Do I have to do everything myself?”

The magical doorway had been damaged beyond repair during the raid and was now detectable to any muggle who cared to come down there. In the event of such an occurrence, Ron had been casting wards to seal the door until nine the following morning, thus keeping it locked until their fellow team members could arrive and safely remove all the incriminating supplies.

“Don't get your knickers in a twist, Malfoy,” Ron's shouts from outside the door, appearing seconds later, muttering the last of his spells and waving his wand in the direction of the doorway. “Oh, and I believed you missed a bit,” Ron adds, his voice smug with an expression to match.

Both Draco and Harry glance in the direction that Ron's wand is pointing. Harry groans as he realises that the offending rack of potions is in the area he just covered. He knows Malfoy will have noticed too and won't hesitate to point it out. Sure enough, he turns to glance at Harry, an arrogant eyebrow raised and a condescending smirk twisting his lips. Harry's gaze lingers on Draco's mouth a second longer than is socially acceptable, marvelling at its soft rosiness in contrast to his incredibly pale skin. His mind starts to wander, pondering what else Malfoy could do with those perfect, pink lips; until the clipped, cultured tones of said Slytherin snap him back to reality.

“Honestly, Potter. One simple task and you can't even manage that,” Draco snips, marching over to the bottles, wand raised at the ready. “Am I the only one who actually wants to leave this infernal place tonight?”

Harry manages to bite his tongue, staving off the caustic retort that was only seconds from slipping out. He and Draco are on their final written warning – one more fight and they will both be on suspension from active duty, pending partner re-allocation. Despite Malfoy constantly rubbing him up the wrong way and belittling him at nearly every opportunity, Harry likes the familiar acidic banter between them and really doesn't want a different partner. Not to mention the fact that Malfoy is hot and Harry likes nothing more than to stare at Draco when he isn’t looking and conjure up all sorts of dark and dirty scenarios; most of which, if not all, involve a distinct lack of clothing and multiple lubrication charms.

Draco mutters the required spell, a quick swish and flick of his wrist to finish it off. Harry almost sighs at the graceful movement of Malfoy’s long limbs, but thankfully manages to rein it in before the traitorous sound escapes. Mumbled curses and a loud scuffling from behind causes both wizards to turn around sharply, their faces wearing matching expressions of horror as they watch Ron tumble backwards through the door, grabbing hold of the handle for balance, and inadvertently pulling it shut behind him. The loud clank, as the door locks into place, reverberates around the suddenly pitch black room.

The cellar is suddenly bathed in white light as both Draco and Harry cast lumos charms simultaneously. They stare at each other for a split second before turning to look at the door, Harry’s stomach doing a little flip-flop at the ethereal way his glowing wand illuminates Malfoy’s face. He swallows thickly, hoping his voice won’t betray him when he uses it.

“Erm...Ron?” Harry asks, crossing his fingers in the hope that the wards Ron cast can be easily deactivated.

“Yes.” Comes the muffled and somewhat despondent reply. Harry’s hopes are immediately dashed at the tone of Ron’s voice. He sounds dejected and apologetic - like a man who is very sorry for something but can’t do anything to rectify it.

“You can’t open the door can you,” Harry states rather than asks. The cold realisation that he and Malfoy are now stuck in the muggle cellar settles heavily on his shoulders.

“No. Sorry, mate.”

“Fuck,” Harry moans, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath; trying, and succeeding for the most part, to rein in his temper. It isn’t Ron’s fault that neither he nor Draco had thought to use their wands to stop the door from shutting.

“Very eloquent, Potter.” Draco has been silent for so long that the sound of his voice almost makes Harry jump. “So, Weasley, what time can we expect to get out of here now? Since I gather it won’t be any time soon.”

“Well...er...”

“Oh for Merlin’s sake, “Draco’s irritated voice sounds overly loud in the confined space. “Just spit it out.”

“Nine o’clock in the morning.” Ron’s response elicits groans from both of his colleagues. “Look, there’s nothing I can do, so...er..I’m going to go home and send an owl to let everyone know what’s happened.”

“Yes, of course.” Draco sneers. “Run along to your nice warm house. Don’t worry about us, confined to this filthy place for the next eight hours.”

“Give it a rest, Malfoy, “Harry hisses. “Ron’s right. There’s absolutely no point him staying here, there’s nothing he can do.”

“Indeed,” Draco replies, rolling his eyes. “It would appear he’s done quite enough already.”

“Right. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then. ‘Night Harry... Malfoy.” Ron’s voice is full of apology and Harry does his best to make sure his reply sounds sincere.

“‘Night, Ron. And don’t worry, Malfoy and I will be perfectly fine,” Harry says, glaring at Draco and daring him to disagree.

“Yes,” Draco adds, returning Harry’s glare with interest. “Wouldn’t want you to lose any sleep thinking about us left here, in this cold, dark, miserable Muggle cellar.”

“Just ignore him, Ron. We’ll see you tomorrow.” It’s at times like this that Harry often questions his sanity. How can he possibly find Malfoy so unbelievably attractive when he’s such an utter arse to his friends and him _usually_. But the fact remains that Harry does indeed find him attractive, particularly when Draco turns that haughty gaze his way, his intelligent, grey eyes washing over Harry’s body and making him shiver.

It’s as if Draco is now doing just what Harry does at every available opportunity - imagining the other naked. But that’s too much for even Harry to hope for so he diligently pushes that thought aside and concentrates on the situation at hand.

“So, Potter. Whatever will we do for the next eight hours?” Harry’s eyes go wide at the hint of teasing in Draco’s voice and there’s a flash of something unfamiliar in those eyes, but it’s gone before Harry can identify it.

“Er...” Harry tries desperately to think of something he and Malfoy can do, that won’t involve him getting hexed. He’s just about to give up when he’s suddenly struck with inspiration. A game that Hermione introduced him to one drunken evening waltzes unbidden into his mind, and despite Harry’s brain frantically telling him it’s a bad idea, he goes with it anyway. “We could play twenty questions?”

“What?” Draco asks, his perfectly proportioned eyebrows drawn inward as he scowls at Harry.

“Twenty Questions,” Harry patiently repeats, causing Draco to roll his eyes for the second time tonight.

“Yes, thank you, Potter.” His voice dripping with sarcasm. “But I assure you I’m not deaf. I just have no clue what you’re babbling about. As per usual.”

Harry sighs in exasperation and prepares to explain the game in tedious detail, knowing that Malfoy will want to know everything about it if there’s going to be the slightest hope of him playing. It’s a game of few rules, so it doesn’t take long.

“Hmm...” Draco muses. “So, basically we take it turns to ask each other questions, until we get to the number twenty?” He’s fiddling with his wand again, sliding it back and forth through his fingers. Harry desperately wishes he’d stop that because he finds Draco’s nimble fingers very distracting. “Not exactly wizarding 101, is it. That the best you could come up with, Potter?”

“At such short notice? Yes.”

“And these questions can be about absolutely anything?” Draco asks, and Harry nods in return, feeling a smile tug at the corner of his mouth as he realises that Malfoy is actually considering the game. The thought of finding out anything about the elusive blond makes Harry’s insides flutter in the most delightful way. “What’s to stop me refusing to answer?” Malfoy adds, and the fluttering in Harry’s stomach comes to an abrupt halt.

Damn! Harry thinks, biting his lip as he struggles to think of a suitable answer. His traitorous mind throws yet another bad idea his way and, once again, against his better judgement, the words just tumble out of his mouth.

“If you refuse to answer any of the questions,” Harry summons all his Gryffindor courage and looks Draco straight in the eye. “Then you take off an article of clothing.” He lowers his wand, moving the light away from his face and hopes Malfoy won’t notice the sudden blush that Harry knows is now staining his cheeks.

Harry watches intently as Draco takes his time considering the proposal, fully expecting him to laugh and refuse point blank. Instead he grins, a sly and slightly mischievous grin, and his eyes darken just a touch.

“Well, well, well, Potter. I never thought I’d hear such a suggestion leave the lips of the Ministry’s Golden Boy. How unexpected.”

“I have my moments.”

“So I see.” Draco taps his finger tips against his mouth, his eyes boring into Harry’s making the Gryffindor’s body flame with anticipation. “Very well, Potter. Let’s play.”

Harry grips his wand tightly, his palms becoming sweaty as the implication of what they are possibly about to do, if they both stick to the rules, becomes all too clear. He could end up naked. Draco could end up naked. _Merlin!_ They could _both_ end up naked.

_He is so unbelievably screwed._

“Shall we?” Draco asks, casting a couple of cushioning charms and gesturing for Harry to sit down.

Harry glances around, spies a lamp over by the far wall and quickly lights it. With their lumos charms now gone, and the lamp being so far away, the pair of them are now bathed in a soft warm light. It’s altogether far too romantic for Harry’s liking, but he studiously ignores this fact and settles down on to the floor, waiting expectantly for Draco to join him.

With a disdainful look at the dirty, dusty floor, Draco finally arranges his robes and gingerly sits down next to Harry; closer than Harry was expecting, but not quite touching. Even so, the close proximity of their bodies causes a delicious shiver to work its way down Harry’s spine and his fingers itch with the urge to reach out and stroke Draco’s knee.

Clearing his throat and hopefully his mind, Harry catches Draco’s attention; eager to get the game started now that Draco has agreed to play. Harry doesn’t really understand Draco’s motivation for playing this game and potentially getting undressed in front of Harry, but he decides that for just this once he isn’t going to analyse every aspect of Draco’s behaviour. He’s just going to go with the flow and, with any luck, finally see what Draco is hiding under those ridiculously expensive clothes.

Draco raises an expectant eyebrow as he waits for Harry to speak and Harry blinks a little, realising he’s been daydreaming about Draco yet again. “Right,” he says, unable to resist rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “Shall I go first?”

“Fine.” Draco concedes. “Do you your worst, Potter.”

Harry notices the slight tension in Draco’s jaw, despite the nonchalant and disinterested expression he’s trying to pull off. He decides to go easy on him for the first few questions, not wanting to scare him off by going straight for the juicy ones. They have plenty of time for that Harry thinks gleefully.

“Why did you want to be an Auror?”

“Honestly, Potter?” Draco peers at him with narrow uncertain eyes, obviously expecting a rather more personal and intrusive question. It’s common knowledge, after all, why Draco had applied for this job. “If that’s the calibre of your questions, then I fear it will be a very tedious and boring game. How disappointing.”

“Humour, me.” Harry replies, ignoring Draco’s jibes.

Draco sighed before answering Harry’s question. “I wanted to have a chance at doing some good for once and possibly atone for at least some of the terrible things my family and I did during the war.”

Draco gives his standard answer that has appeared countless times in The Daily Prophet, but Harry is neither surprised nor disappointed. It’s exactly what he was expecting. “Now it’s your turn.” Harry says, feeling rather nervous all of a sudden. He’s almost certain that Draco won’t be concerned about easing Harry into the game. As the trademark smirk stretches slowly across Draco’s face, Harry swallows thickly and thinks that just maybe, playing this game is quite possibly the stupidest thing he has ever done.

“Why did you suggest _this_ game? And I mean the _real_ reason, not just because we’re stuck in here.” Draco tilts his head to the side, regarding Harry with inquisitive eyes, as though he is particularly interested in the answer to this question.

“Um...” Harry's mouth immediately goes dry and his heart rate picks up, thumping against his ribs at the most alarming speed. He really isn’t keen on telling Draco that he wants to know everything about him, and also get him naked if at all possible. He could lie, it’s not like Draco would know, although Harry suspects he’d be able to tell somehow. But his stupid Gryffindor honour, his innate sense of fair play, or something equally admirable but wholly inconvenient, refuses to let him answer with anything other than the truth. So he does the only other thing he can do.

He takes off his cloak, folding it carefully and placing it on the ground next to him. Draco says nothing, but his eyes follow Harry’s every movement and Harry’s heart continues to race as his body warms under Draco’s scrutiny.

The silence stretches between them as Harry contemplates his next questions. After Draco’s bold move, Harry decides to abandon his previous idea and go straight for what he really wants to know. “Why did you agree to play?”

“I don’t think either of us is ready for that answer, Potter.” Draco replies, his eyes darker still as they bore into Harry’s. “Ask me another and save that one ‘til later.”

Harry’s breath catches slightly at the implication behind Draco’s words and can’t help but wonder exactly what his answer would have been. He sighs, but doesn't mention the fact that Draco should just have refused to answer and taken off his cloak. Harry is slightly miffed that Draco hasn’t been relieved of any clothing yet, but isn’t that surprised that Draco’s making up his own rules. He is Slytherin after all.

“Ok, who was the last girl you kissed?”

Draco coughs a little, obviously surprised by Harry’s question. Harry smiles smugly, delighted that he has managed to catch Draco off guard. It’s well known that Harry is gay, ever since he and Ginny broke up and he accidentally outed himself one drunken evening. Draco’s sex life, however, remains a mystery.

He’s been seen out with the odd pure-blood beauty hanging off his arm, but there are never any public displays of affection, and they also never seem to last very long. Harry watches, somewhat amused, as Draco struggles to decide whether to answer or not.

“Pansy Parkinson.” Draco decides in the end to go with answering the question and Harry isn’t sure whether that’s a good thing or not.

On the one hand, Draco is still fully clothed, but on the other he just revealed a huge piece of information, if he is indeed telling the truth. It was rumoured that Draco and Pansy knocked about together back in fifth year at Hogwarts, which by Harry’s reckoning was at least five years ago.

Harry’s mind swims with the possibilities that Draco’s admission has just created.

“My turn, Potter.” Draco prods, snapping Harry out of yet another daze. “Or have you had enough already?”

“Nope, I’m just getting started.” Harry sets his wand down on the floor, fairly confident now that Draco won’t hex him.

They spend the next ten minutes asking fairly harmless things about each other, the intensity of the opening two questions making both Draco and Harry back off a little. Harry learns, much to his surprise, that Draco no longer lives at Malfoy Manor; having moved out two years ago, as soon as he left Hogwarts. He now lives in a very nice apartment in wizarding London, not too far from where Harry has recently moved to. Harry tells Draco about selling Grimmauld Place and moving to somewhere much less depressing, but that he lives on his own and has done ever since he moved in.

 

Draco refuses to tell Harry whether he is single or not, and Harry almost cheers as Draco takes off his first item of clothing. It’s quickly followed by Harry’s shoes, and Draco’s Auror robes as neither of them are prepared to admit who their last relationship was with or who their last shag was. Well, in truth, Harry would have been happy to answer both questions, but he was keen to shed some more of his clothing, especially since Draco was rapidly losing his own.

“How about... when was your last shag?” Harry asks, grinning. “Will you answer that?”

“Why are you so interested in my sex-life, Potter?” Draco snaps, and Harry is almost certain he can see a faint blush colouring Draco’s perfect cheeks. Harry just shrugs and Draco sighs in response, but answers anyway. “Six months ago. You?”

“Three nights ago.” Harry replies, and one of Draco’s beautifully shaped eyebrows arches towards his hairline.

“I wasn’t aware you were seeing anyone, Potter.” Draco drawls out, looking faintly pissed off. “Who knew you were such a tart?”

Harry keeps quiet. He’s secretly thrilled that Draco appears to be keeping tabs on his social life, but is less than proud about his own admission. He’d picked up some willing stranger at one of the Muggle gay clubs; taken him outside and down the adjoining alley for a quick and dirty shag. Not his finest moment, it has to be said. It doesn’t help matters that the Muggle in question had been tall and skinny and blond; altogether a very poor imitation of the wizard currently sat next to him.

“Have you ever kissed a boy?” Harry asks, suddenly wanting to know very badly whether he has a chance with Draco or if it’s still an unattainable fantasy.

“Pass.” Draco pulls off one shoe, but Harry shakes his head.

“Shoes and socks count as one item,” he says, biting his cheek and hoping that Draco doesn’t question him. To Harry's utter delight, Draco just huffs and slides off his other shoe before asking his next question.

“Did you shag the Weasley Girl?”

“Pass.” Harry takes off his Auror robes and adds them to the pile.

Draco is now clad in a silk shirt, perfectly tailored trousers and black socks, while Harry still has on an old t-shirt, jeans and a pair of mismatched blue socks. Somehow during their undressing, their knees have gotten closer, Draco’s leg is now touching Harry’s from his knee to his ankle. It’s almost more than Harry can bear, but he refuses to pull away, savouring any contact he can get.

“Do you fancy anyone, at the minute?” Harry asks, holding his breath.

“Yes.” _Fuck_. Not quite the answer he's hoping for. “Do you?” Draco has slipped into the habit of repeating Harry’s questions back at him. A fact that pleases Harry no end because he can now manipulate Draco into asking whatever he wants him to.

“Yes.”

Draco’s jaw clenches a little harder. “Who?” he blurts out.

Harry just smirks and shakes his head. “It’s not your turn,” he says, his smirk turning into a full blown smile as Draco curses about the _‘stupid fucking Muggle game’_ under his breath, but doesn’t ask again.

Harry ponders Draco’s previous answer; he’s not noticed Draco in the pages of The Daily Prophet recently, which means he hasn’t been going out much, since they tend to still follow Draco’s every move. Inspiration strikes and Harry asks his next question.

“Is it someone at work?”

“Pass.” Draco takes off his socks.

Harry knows he’s probably overreacting, considering it’s just feet, but the fact that it’s Draco Malfoy’s feet that are now bare is exciting him in all sorts of embarrassing ways. Harry shifts around, trying to covertly rearrange himself without Draco noticing.

But Draco does notice, and judging by the way he wiggles his toes -in what Harry perceives to be a very seductive manner indeed- Draco knows exactly what he’s doing to him.

“I believe it’s my turn now. So, I’ll ask you again.” Draco subtly moves a little closer, his thigh now ghosting the length of Harry’s. “Who do you fancy?”

Harry stares at Draco’s mouth as he speaks, mesmerized by the sliver of pink tongue sneaking out to lick at his bottom lip. He thinks about telling Draco the truth; that it’s him who Harry fancies and that he spends most of his working day fantasising about bending Draco over each and every available surface.

Draco coughs and Harry’s startled green eyes snap up to meet questioning grey ones. It’s on the tip of Harry’s tongue, he wants to say it but just as the words from on his tongue, Draco speaks and ruins it all. “Come on, Potter. Tell me who the unlucky bastard is.”

Harry feels the sharp sting of hurt deep inside his chest and suspects it’s written all over his face. Draco’s cool, disinterested expression falters slightly and he opens his mouth to speak again but Harry beats him to it this time.

“Pass.” He reaches down to pull his own socks off, but the excitement he felt before is missing. When Harry sits back up, he’s no longer touching Draco, and for once he’s thankful.

 

“Harry, I’m-”

“It’s my turn now,” Harry interrupts, purposely ignoring the fact that Draco used his first name and refusing to acknowledge the stirrings of warmth that it sets off deep in his belly. He’s still smarting from Draco’s earlier comment.

“What was it like having Voldemort in your house all that time?” Harry wants to bite his own tongue off as soon as the question is out. He shouldn’t be opening old wounds, it’s not fair and he knows it. The gasp from Draco and the cold look that immediately masks his features confirms it for Harry and guilt rushes in to replace the hurt.

Fuck.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean -”

“I think I’ll pass on that one.” His voice is icy cold and the grey eyes that previously held a myriad of emotions are now empty. “Unlike some, Potter, I’ve no desire to dredge up the past.”

Harry winces at the biting tone, but says nothing, knowing that he thoroughly deserves Draco’s ire. Things were going so well in Harry’s opinion and now he’s gone and fucked it all up, with one stupid question. He watches Draco from the corner of his eye, and Harry knows he needs to fix this before Draco shuts down completely.

Without any warning and with a totally uncalled for amount of elegance, Draco stands and dusts imaginary dirt from his trousers. Harry stares down at his own bare feet and sighs forlornly, assuming the game is now finished just as they were getting to the good bits. He reaches over to grab his clothes, but his hand halts in mid air as Draco’s silk shirt flutters to the ground in front of him.

Harry swallows the lump in his throat, wanting to look up because he knows full well that Draco’s upper body is now on display, but he doesn’t want to see that cold, empty expression on his beautiful face. He eventually settles on something in between, as the temptation to look at all that exposed skin is simply too great for Harry to ignore. He starts at Draco’s bare feet, licking his lips as his gaze travels over the perfectly proportioned toes and slender arches. Draco’s ridiculously expensive trousers fit him perfectly of course, and Harry’s hungry eyes rake over his long legs, settling on the slight pull of the material at his crotch.

 

 

There’s a distinct bulge in the front of Draco’s trousers and Harry’s eyes go wide at the realisation that Draco is hard. Harry himself has been hard for the last half an hour, but that’s a common occurrence when he’s around Draco.

_Merlin’s beard!_

Harry is stuck in a cellar with a half naked Draco Malfoy, who also happens to be sporting wood. This is not what he pictured happening after his monumental fuck-up, and he’s still not exactly sure what this means.

Harry reluctantly tears his eyes away from Draco’s crotch and almost whimpers as the pale skin of Draco’s stomach finally comes into view. It looks soft and smooth, with just a hint of definition. Harry’s cock is painfully hard and for one awful second he thinks he might cum from this alone. He reaches down without thinking, absentmindedly rubbing his palm over his dick while he drinks in more of Draco’s perfect body.

A sharp intake of breath reminds Harry that he’s being watched and he quickly snatches his hand away. He slowly raises his head, expecting to meet Draco’s cold grey eyes; but they are no longer cold and empty. Draco’s face is a mixture of anger and lust as he stares down at Harry, watching him intently.

“Get up.” Draco’s voice is soft, but clear and firm.

Harry moans a little at the commanding tone, grabs his wand - just in case - and slowly, with a lot less grace than Draco, rises to his feet.

“Why did you ask me that?” Draco says, taking a step closer. Harry stands his ground, willing himself not to reach out and stroke Draco’s chest like he so desperately wants to. The faint lines that Harry put there years before are another stark reminder of why he shouldn’t have brought up the past. “After all this time, I thought it was finally behind us and then you go and throw it in my face.” Draco’s voice is getting louder, anger clouding out the lust as he glares at Harry, fists clenched by his sides. “Tell me why, Potter?”

Harry feels his temper rise in response to Draco’s. If Draco wants the truth, then Harry is going to give him the fucking truth. “You pissed me off, okay?” he shouts, causing Draco to flinch. “I know I shouldn’t have said it, but I was upset and hurt and I just lashed out.”

“What the hell are you talking about, you utter prat?” Some of Draco’s anger disappears as he regards Harry with a curious expression. Harry shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot, his own anger dissipating and leaving him feeling strangely vulnerable.

“Pass,” Harry says, his eyes never leaving Draco’s as he reaches down to grab the bottom of his t-shirt, with surprisingly steady fingers. He pulls it over his head and tosses it on the floor.

“It wasn’t my turn.” Draco’s voice has lost its commanding edge, and while Harry misses the thrill that it evoked, he is more than happy to be the cause of Draco’s sudden loss of composure. “Tell me what I said to upset you.”

Harry takes a deep breath, knowing that his next answer will change things irrevocably.

“Pass.” He whispers, slowly undoing the buttons on his trousers and sliding them down his thighs, kicking them off when they pool around his feet.

Draco tilts his head to the side, eyeing Harry’s nearly naked form, but saying nothing. Harry fights the urge to cover himself up, feeling more than a little exposed but when Draco flicks out his tongue to lick his lips, Harry relaxes a little and some of his unease disappears. Draco taps a finger against his chin and Harry can almost see him replaying their conversations in his head.

Harry sees the exact moment that Draco realises the truth because his eyes flash with understanding. He grabs Harry by the shoulders and shoves him roughly up against the wall.

“The unlucky bastard is me, isn’t it?” Draco breathes. He’s standing so close that Harry can barely think straight. Draco’s heady scent is invading his senses and he can just about manage to nod in response.

Draco closes his eyes and rests his head on Harry’s shoulder, his hot breath washing over Harry’s skin and making it tingle. When Draco eventually looks up to meet Harry’s gaze, all traces of anger are gone, replaced with something else entirely. “Ask me a question.”

“What?” Harry asks, slightly confused and still a little dazed from Draco’s close proximity.

“It’s your turn,” he whispers. “Ask me a question.”

Harry searches frantically for something to ask.

“Who is it that you fancy?”

Draco smiles, a big, wide, beautiful smile and it lights up his whole face.

“Pass.”

For one awful second Harry thinks Draco is playing with him, and his heart stutters painfully in his chest, but as Draco’s deft fingers move to the waistband of his trousers, Harry’s answering smile is just as bright. With practised ease Draco undoes the buttons and lets them slide to the floor.

With only boxer shorts now separating them, Harry can feel every inch of Draco as he slips his hands around Harry’s waist and pulls him close. “Ask me another.”

There is only one more question that Harry wants the answer to. When he asked it earlier Draco said that Harry wasn’t ready to hear the answer, but he’s quite certain -as Draco slowly grinds against him causing his eyes to roll back into his head- that he’s more than ready to hear it now.

“Why did you agree to play?”

Harry waits eagerly for Draco’s answer, uncertain as to whether he’ll pass again or answer truthfully this time. Draco leans forward, his mouth tantalisingly close to Harry’s ear. “Because I’ve been waiting five years to get you naked, Potter.” Harry feels Draco smile against his skin and the faintest swipe of tongue over the sensitive spot behind Harry’s ear. “I was hardly going to refuse.”

Draco summons his wand and with a whispered _Evanesco_ , he vanishes the final barrier between them into thin air.

“Oh, God.” Harry groans, as he’s suddenly overwhelmed with the extra skin-to-skin contact. His dick is held snugly between their two bodies and is rubbing along Draco’s in the most painfully erotic way. Harry bites his lip as he looks down, the sight of them together threatening to push him over the edge embarrassingly soon.

Harry shuts his eyes tight, trying to think unsexy thoughts but the feel of Draco's soft, warm skin soon has him moaning and thrusting his hips, he sucks in a breath as the delicious friction takes him closer and closer.

“Don’t you fucking dare, Potter.” Draco hisses, sliding a hand between them to grab the base of Harry’s cock and squeeze hard. “You aren’t coming until I’ve got my dick buried deep inside that Gryffindor arse.”

“Fuck!” Harry breathes, as image after image floats through his head at Draco’s declaration.

“Exactly.”

Draco mutters another spell and walks Harry backwards before pushing him gently down onto the floor. Thanks to another one of Draco cushioning spells and the addition of their cloaks, the makeshift _bed,_ that Draco has created, is surprisingly comfortable. Harry props himself up on his elbows, his breath catching as Draco settles between his thighs, his cock in one hand, and his wand in the other.

“Tell me why you suggested this game?”

Uncertain grey eyes fix on desire filled green ones, and Harry recognises the deep need for reassurance that Malfoy would never ever voice out loud. He’s already answered Harry’s question as to why he agreed to play, and Harry knows he must do the same before this can go any further.

“Because I think about you all day, every day and I imagine doing dirty, wonderful things with you all over the office.” Harry’s stomach clenches as a shy smile graces Draco’s lips and Harry sees his uncertainty slowly slip away. “And because, I thought this was the only way I’d ever get to see what you hide under those robes.”

Harry’s last words have hardly left his mouth before he’s flat on his back, his body covered head to toe in warm, delicious Slytherin. Draco’s lips brush against Harry’s in the barest of touches and Harry wants to scream for Draco to _just fucking kiss him already._

“And do you like what you see, Potter?”

“Yes... _Merlin_...yes..” Harry whimpers as Draco’s hot mouth bites and licks its way down the side of his neck. He’s dizzy with need and might very well combust if Draco doesn’t do _something_ soon. “Malfoy...Draco... _please_...”

Draco’s soft laughter against Harry’s neck is followed by a muffled spell and seconds later Harry jumps a little as slick fingers make their way between his arse cheeks. Harry gasps as Draco pushes first one, then two inside him, and Draco’s mouth immediately finds Harry’s, swallowing his cries as Draco finds that spot inside that turns Harry into a moaning, writhing mess underneath him.

Harry spreads his legs wider, letting Draco know that he’s ready and that Draco should hurry-the-fuck-up. Not one to need telling twice, Draco quickly removes his fingers, replacing them with something a whole lot bigger. Harry barely has time to dwell on that fact before Draco is pushing his way inside and doesn’t stop until he’s all the way in.

He stills for a second, breathing heavily on Harry’s shoulder as he allows him time to adjust. Harry almost cries with relief when Draco decides he can’t wait any longer. With a soft kiss on Harry’s overheated skin, he withdraws nearly all the way before slamming back inside. Harry’s back arches and he clings on to Draco for dear life.

It’s hot and hard and fast, with messy half kisses and whispered words peppered in between moans and cries for _more_. Harry is so close, that familiar feeling creeping up and threatening to overtake him. When Draco shifts slightly to wrap a hand around Harry’s cock and whispers Harry’s name, his _first_ name, it’s all too much and Harry is undone; pleasure coursing through his body in wave after wave. He holds tightly to Draco’s hips, vaguely aware of Draco trembling and pulsing inside him.

Their laboured breathing is the only sound that Harry can hear and it’s like music to his ears. With Draco collapsed on top of him in a hot, sweaty, and gloriously sticky mess, Harry realises he couldn’t possibly be any happier and a euphoric smile lights up his face.

As if sensing Harry's mood, Draco grumbles against his neck, lifting his head slightly to look Harry in the eye. “What are you so happy about, Potter?” His words are sharp, but the tone of his voice is warm and playful. “We’re hot, sweaty and covered in bodily fluids, not to mention the fact that we’re still incarcerated in this damn cellar. I fail to see how that is something to smile about.”

Harry laughs out loud, pleased to see that nothing has changed between them. Well, _something_ has obviously changed, Harry hopes, but he’s beyond relieved that there doesn’t seem to be any ‘after sex’ awkwardness.

Harry winces slightly as Draco pulls out and rolls onto his back, a long pale arm draped over his eyes.

“Be a good Gryffindor and clean us up would you, Potter?” Draco’s voice is sleepy and before Harry has even muttered the words, Draco is snoring softly. The arm covering Draco’s face slips down revealing a sight that Harry thought he’d never get to witness; Draco, unguarded and relaxed in sleep. Harry can only stare at Draco’s beauty, free from the hostility and sarcasm that he usually carries round like a mask. Harry can’t resist kissing him one last time before snuggling up next to him, slipping an arm around Draco’s waist and sighing contentedly.

As Harry drifts off to sleep, he makes a mental note to thank Hermione for insisting on playing Muggle games, although he is almost certain that she’ll be horrified with Harry’s new and improved version.

 

\--oxo--

The loud clank of the cellar door being unlocked rouses Harry from his deep, warm and very comfortable sleep. It takes a few moments for his sleep-fogged mind to catch up and he only realises the compromising position he and Draco are in as Ron’s shocked face appears in the doorway.

“Bloody hell! Harry!” Ron’s wide eyes rest on the sleeping figure of Malfoy, still half covered by Harry’s body. “I see you found a way to pass the time then.”

Harry chokes out a laugh, blushing furiously. “Erm...yeah.”

“‘Bout bloody time.” Ron says, grinning at Harry’s confused face. “Oh, c’mon, mate. Did you really think I didn’t notice you staring dreamily at him in the office all day, or that I couldn’t tell exactly what you were thinking?”

“Er...” It was far too early for Harry to form coherent thoughts in light of Ron’s revelations.

“Just promise me you won’t do anything on my desk.” Ron adds, grimacing slightly and failing to suppress a shudder.

Harry just nods, all the while wondering if there’ll even _be_ a next time. “What time is it, anyway?” Ron had said the door was charmed to open at nine o’clock, but it certainly didn’t feel like eight hours had passed since Ron had left. Harry wonders if he and Draco have slept for longer than he first thought.

Now it’s Ron who blushes and looks slightly guilty and Harry’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “What time is it?” he repeats, slowly.

“Seven o’clock.” Ron squeaks out, stepping back a little from Harry’s menacing glare.

“But you said the door wouldn’t open until nine and that there was nothing you could do!” Harry whisper-yells, not wanting to wake Draco as he'll more than likely hex Ron if he hears any of this.

“I lied.” Harry’s mouth falls open and Ron rushes to explain further. “Look, Harry. I figured you’d never do anything about it on your own and so I gave you a little helping hand, that’s all.”

“But...but...the door was locked?”

“Yes, it was. But _any_ Auror could have opened it. Evidently you didn’t even try?” Ron says pointedly.

“No, I didn’t. Because I trusted you!” Harry cries in exasperation. His hand tightens on Draco’s hip and it reminds him of what happened as a result of Ron’s meddling. Suddenly Harry doesn’t know whether to be mad or incredibly thankful. He settles on a bit of both; regardless of how this _did_ turn out, it could so easily have gone the other way.

“How did you even know that Draco liked me? For all you knew we could have ended up killing each other?”

“Nah...I mean I wasn’t one hundred percent certain, but I’ve caught Malfoy watching you when he thinks no one’s looking. I figured it was worth the risk.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say, so he just lies there staring up at Ron, who stares right back.

“Lying _and_ meddling in people’s affairs, Weasley? How very Slytherin of you.” Draco’s smooth, velvety voice cuts through the silence. “I’m almost proud.” He opens one eye and fixes his cool but grudgingly admiring gaze on Ron. “Now, if I’m not mistaken, we still have two hours left. So, unless you want to watch me do unspeakable things to Potter’s willing body, I suggest you leave us to it.”

Harry has never seen Ron move so fast and is laughing long after Ron has run out in a flurry of Auror robes, the door once again slamming shut behind him.

Pale fingers curl around Harry’s neck, pulling him back down to meet warm, soft lips. The kiss is surprisingly gentle and unhurried, and nothing like before. Harry sighs as Draco flips them over, loving the way Draco’s body fits perfectly with his.

“So, Potter,” Draco whispers as he laps at Harry’s jaw. “Which unspeakable thing would you like first?”

 

The End.  



End file.
